


The Butcher's Old Routine

by Random_ag



Category: Original Work
Genre: Horror, In a way, Poetry, dont know what else to say honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 15:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: The morning air is so pristine.
Kudos: 1





	The Butcher's Old Routine

It’s the butcher’s old routine.

The butcher goes out on the street: “Come one, come all, gents and madams!”

The people stop and gaze.

“Come one, come all!” the butcher says. “For the sweetest meat to ever taste!”

The people huff and go. The crowd is left behind.

It follows the butcher into the butcher’s shop, and sits around a boiling delicious-smelling pot.

“Fret not, my friends.” the butcher says, “There’s a piece for all of you.”

They each grab a plate and fork and knife and why, the butcher tells no lie. The meat is soft, juicy, tender, finger-licking sweet.

How much does the meat cost, how much is there to pay? I’d love to have this delicacy for my supper today.

“Fret not, my friends.” the butcher says, “There’s enough for just you all.”

The crowd stands and follows all the way down the butcher’s hall.

The crowd follows the butcher deeper in the butcher’s shop. Some are hungrier, some are tired, but the butcher doesn’t stop.

The crowd follows the butcher deeper, they don’t know were they’re going. Soon enough they’re angry, they’re complaining and they’re groaning.

But the butcher doesn’t stop.

The butcher never stops.

The butcher just goes deeper in the butcher’s deep dark shop.

And when the butcher finds a door, the butcher is alone. The butcher opens: it’s the first room, both a workplace and a home.

There’s a boiling steaming pot, full of meat up to the top.

The butcher smiles; the butcher’s tired. It’s a brand new day, out here.

Sometimes, the butcher wishes to have chosen another carreer.

The clock chimes, the cockerell crows. The morning air is so pristine.

It’s the butcher’s old routine.


End file.
